


keep the lights on (they're too bright)

by Cathalinaheart



Category: Doctor Strange (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Cockwarming, Doctor Strange: The End, M/M, Old Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:35:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23110093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cathalinaheart/pseuds/Cathalinaheart
Summary: Before it all ends Stephen gets one last chance at happiness.
Relationships: Stephen Strange/Victor von Doom
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	keep the lights on (they're too bright)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_casual_cheesecake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_casual_cheesecake/gifts).



> For cake, who drew me amazing art in exchange.  
> Thank you wynne for beta reading.  
> Title is based on the Ich lass für dich das Licht an by Revolverheld.
> 
> This probably doesn't make a lot of sense if you haven't read the comic.

Stephen couldn’t stop staring at the air where just a second before, the holographic image of Jenny had been. Tears stung at his eyes. No. No! He would not cry over the loss of a stupid device. Angrily, he kicked the housing unit out of his way. It rolled to a stop at the foot of the bar. The following silence settled heavily around him and he realized that he was alone. He had just stifled the last voice that cared for him. That she had been programmed to it didn’t seem so important now. Nothing did. Maybe he should just go back to bed. Today was not a good day and he felt every single day of his age. As much as he liked to ignore it, he was old. Old people took naps, right? There was nothing shameful about that.

Slowly he walked down the hallway to the stairs, letting his shoulders hang. There was no one around to keep up appearances for. No one that cared. That he could disappoint.

The sound of the doorbell was jarring. With the diminishing of his powers, Stephen hated that he couldn’t afford to waste magic on feeling out who it was. He really hoped it wasn’t another group of street thugs that planned to rob him.

For a moment he considered just ignoring the doorbell. But he was still sorcerer supreme, and if someone needed his help, he couldn’t refuse. With a sigh, he made his way to the front door — only to freeze when he saw who stood at the threshold.

Victor was not in his usual armor. Instead, he was wearing a crisp black suit with a dark green tie. His face was on full display, allowing Stephen to study the scars and wrinkles that spoke of a long life lived. Victor was holding a bouquet of green lisianthus. They looked a lot like green roses. Of course Victor would pick green flowers.

“Hello Stephen,” Victor said after a moment of looking up and down Stephen, nodding slightly as if to say he approved of what he saw.

Stephen kept on staring, just like he had stared at the empty air just a few minutes ago. But Victor was actually here, a solid body in front of him, all he would have to do was to reach out.

The timing of his appearance was uncanny. Feelings of heartache and betrayal were warring inside Stephen with the relief that he wasn’t alone, that Victor was still alive. He realized that he was tired of holding on to grudges. If Victor had come to make peace with him, he would gladly accept.

“Victor,” he greeted finally, taking the flowers that were offered. When was the last time someone had brought him flowers? He couldn’t remember. He had thought the next time someone brought him flowers would be to put them down on his grave.

“May I come in?” Victor asked, the ghost of a smile on his lips, a rare sight that made Stephen’s heart clench. He stepped to the side to let Victor in.

“It has been a while,” Stephen said while walking Victor to the sitting room.

“It has,” Victor acknowledged. “I haven’t always been the friend to you that I should have, and for that I am sorry.”

“You broke my heart. I had to wake up alone without any word from you,” Stephen said, thinking back to the last time he had shared Victor’s bed, just after Wanda’s funeral. Both of them had always been attracted to each other like moths to a flame. Easily caught up in the untamed flames of love that burn if you get too close.

"I'm not the young man I once was, Stephen. Heartbreaking is too vigorous a game for me to play," Victor said, sitting down in one of the armchairs. Even without his cape, he managed to make every movement into a dramatic production.

“Victor, that was three months ago,” Stephen replied, fighting a smile.

"Time is nothing but a construct. Things change. I was arrogant in thinking I could play god a second time just to halt the death of magic."

Stephen wondered if he had just suffered a stroke, because he could have sworn Victor had just admitted to being arrogant.

"Don't look so shocked, Stephen. I am well aware of my flaws."

It was surprising how much one could miss a single person. Victor filled out the whole sanctum with his mere presence.

“All right,” Stephen said. He considered Victor. He looked open, like he had left all pretense behind. No mask to hide behind. “Why are you here?”

Stephen knew what he wanted the answer to be. He didn’t want Victor to be here just because he needed a favor.

“Is it so hard to believe that I have just missed you?”

It actually wasn’t, and that surprised Stephen.

“Are you here to stay, then?”

“If you’ll have me,” Victor said, holding out his hand.

In the end, it was easy to completely let go of the past heartbreak. The two of them might well be the only ones left, and every minute was precious. So Stephen simply replied with “Yes” and took Victor’s hand, pulling him up and close.

“I missed you,” Stephen breathed out, his forehead resting against Victor’s.

Then he tilted his head until their mouths met in a kiss. It was slow and steady. Grounding. So unlike the hurried, angry, passionate kisses they’d shared in the past.

* * *

“Mmmh..” Stephen hummed, content. “Exactly like this, darling. You’re so good to me”

The sight in front of him was magnificent. Victor was kneeling naked on a green cushion, hands clasped behind his back, eyes closed and his mouth stretched around Stephen’s cock. He was beautifully pliant, gracefully taking every one of Stephen’s occasional thrusts.

The trust Victor showed by going to his knees for Stephen was a power rush that made most magic pale in comparison. Here he was, with a former god on his knees.

Victor was his, utterly and completely. Nothing could tear them apart anymore. This peace had not come easy, but it was worth every struggle.

Stephen reached down to stroke Victor’s hair and got a soft moan in response. The vibration made his cock twitch, but this was not about getting off. This was about the two of them and the connection they felt. Their love settled over them like a soft blanket.

“You’re perfect, darling,” Stephen said, letting his fingers glide over Victor’s scarred cheeks before he withdrew them.

He picked up the book on the table next to him. It had become a tradition that Stephen would read to Victor while they did this. Victor had told him how soothing he found it, how it made him feel even more connected. Like this was something they were doing together and not just Victor for Stephen.

The book today was a collection of poems. Stephen opened the first page and smiled when he saw which one it was. He began to read:

_ "Light came from the east," he sang, _ _   
_ _ "Bright guarantee of God, and the waves went quiet. _ _   
_ _ I could see headlands and buffeted cliffs. _ _   
_ _ Often, for marked courage, fate spares the man _ _   
_ _ It has not marked already." _

_ And when their objection was reported to him-- _ _   
_ _ That he had gone to bits and was leaving them _ _   
_ _ Nothing to hold on to, his first and last lines _ _   
_ _ Neither here nor there---- _ _   
_ _ "Since when," he asked, _ _   
_ _ "Are the first line and the last line of any poem _ _   
_ _ Where the poem begins and ends?" [1] _

Eventually, Victor began to shift, and Stephen knew that this moment would need to end soon. They weren’t as young as they once had been and Victor’s knees could only take so much.

Slowly, he closed the book and put it back on the table. Then he threaded one hand in Victor’s hair and pulled just enough to get Victor’s attention.

“You’re going to suck me off now, all right?”

Victor gave the slightest of nods. A trickle of spit was making its way down Victor’s chin and Stephen wiped it away with his thumb.

“You can rub off against my leg. This is the only way you get to come, do you understand?”

Victor hummed and shifted his position to bring himself within reach. Stephen stretched his leg to accommodate him and then Victor sucked.

Stephen let his head fall back and groaned. Victor was incredibly talented with his tongue and the sensation of it against his cock was all Stephen could focus on. The world narrowed down to that one feeling. It was overwhelming, how much he loved this man.

Victor groaned and Stephen tightened his hold in Victor’s hair in response. This only seemed to incite Victor further. He took Stephen’s cock all the way down and swallowed.

A breathless “Oh fuck, yes” escaped Stephen and he came down Victor’s throat. Like the gentleman he was, Victor tried his best to swallow it all. Just as Stephen was about to withdraw his limp cock from Victor’s mouth, he felt the wetness coating his leg.

A glance down confirmed that Victor had come. Stephen smiled at the sight of a blissed out Victor. He cupped his chin with both hands and pulled Victor up into a kiss.

They both needed to clean up, but just for now Stephen wanted to enjoy the moment.

* * *

Outside the leaves were turning brown and falling to the ground. Cold winds blew through the streets of New York, and the hours of daylight kept dwindling.

With the change of seasons, Victor’s magic started waning faster. Both men were mourning a constant loss of power but Victor was deteriorating faster than Stephen.

They spent a lot of their time curled around each other in front of the fireplace, reminiscing on old memories tinged in nostalgia. In the safety of each other’s arms, talking came easy. But the days that Victor struggled with leaving the bed became more frequent.

Both men knew that eventually, they would have to face the inevitable. Victor was dying, and Stephen could do not much more than watch and hold his hand. It was Victor leaving him, yet again. It would be so easy to spend Victor’s last days bitter and angry at the universe. But what good would that do either of them?

The day Victor died was surprisingly warm. Their bedroom was flooded in sunlight. Stephen was sitting next to Victor, holding his hand and watching the light dance over his scars and wrinkles. He was beautiful covered in golden light and showing every mark his life had left on him.

Stephen felt tears prickling in his eyes and he quickly wiped them away. He didn’t want to miss Victor’s last moments. There would be time for crying afterwards.

“Stephen,” Victor breathed out. It was hard to imagine that this voice had once commanded people with the presence of a god. Victor looked so vulnerable. Human.

“Shhh,” Stephen replied. He stroked over Victor’s hair, fighting the tremble in his hand. “It’s all right, Victor.”

“I… I’m sorry… for leaving you.” Victor’s breath was getting shallower.

Stephen swallowed. His voice failed him, so he intertwined their fingers again and lifted them to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to Victor’s skin. He hoped it could convey all the things he was unable to say.

Eventually Stephen found his voice again. “Any time with you is worth it. The last year has been the best of my life. You gave me peace, Victor.” Tears escaped his eyes and he shut them close for just a moment. “I love you.”

He opened his eyes again just in time to witness Victor’s last breath. One last rise and fall of his chest and then the other man stilled forever. Through his tear streaked vision Stephen saw the smile on Victor’s face. His death had been peaceful, perhaps even happy, and that was a rare thing for people like them.

But it did nothing to soothe the pain that was breaking his heart.

They’d had a year. A wonderful year filled with more laughter and love than Stephen had thought possible before. Now the memories were all he had left to sustain himself.

Victor’s hand was cooling in his, and with it all the warmth was leaving the room. Suddenly the sunlight didn’t seem warm and bright anymore, but cold and harsh.

Grief and loneliness mingled together and seeped deep into Stephen’s bones. Being with Victor had been a reprieve, but now he was left alone, watching death of magic while he withered and died with it, too.

[1]The Fragment - Seamus Heaney [return to text]


End file.
